


Black & Gold

by yours_eternally



Series: AUgust 2020 Prompts [7]
Category: Motionless in White (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Come Eating, Dark Magic, Hand & Finger Kink, Hand Jobs, M/M, Necromancy, Sexual Coercion, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:19:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25769554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yours_eternally/pseuds/yours_eternally
Summary: ‘I know why you’re here,’ he says, lifting the skull with his fingers and turning towards it as though he might kiss it. ‘What I don’t know is what you imagine someone like you,Prince, have that I could possibly want.’  Chris opens his mouth but there’s nothing. Then a thought passes over the surface of his mind.‘Wh-what do you want?’ he asks at last and he sees that man’s face crack into a smile.‘Smart,’ he says, still leering at Chris, ‘—I like that. What I want from you is service.’A desperate Chris has made the treacherous journey to Ricky’s castle. His task; to beg for a relic that will allow him to save his kingdom before it’s too late. But Ricky will require something from Chris in return.
Relationships: Chris "Motionless" Cerulli/Ricky "Horror" Olson
Series: AUgust 2020 Prompts [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1859290
Comments: 10
Kudos: 13
Collections: AUgust 2020





	Black & Gold

Chris steels himself as he approaches the castle. Mist is curling it’s clawed fingers around his ankles as he walks, the ground is wet and his squelching footsteps sound absurdly loud in the darkening woods. 

The twisted gates emerges from darkness all at once. And it's then Chris spots the centuries. He’d been warned at the last village he’d passed through; the locals begging him to abandon his quest and turn back. 

But nothing could quite prepare him for the sight of the _Reanimates_. 

They were called other things in other places, as were the necromancers that were their masters. But all Chris had heard them whisperingly spoken of as was _Reanimates_. They didn’t speak as he passed, many of them didn’t have enough jaw left to do so. Neither did they move to impede his process towards the castle. He draws his sword regardless. 

He guesses he is expected then. 

He reaches the flagstone steps and picks his way amongst skeletons and fallen masonry. He steps through the ornate arch into the entrance hall. He’s just beginning to wonder where to go when he spots one of the creatures stumbling towards him with purpose. 

_**My master bids you welcome.** _

It’s speech seems to come from nowhere and everywhere at once. A thousand dead voices. Chris can feel the hair on the back of his neck rise. 

‘Where is your master?’ Chris asks, forcing himself to keep to tremble from his voice. The creature croaks and beckons. Chris decides there is nothing he can do but follow. It leads him up a set of shallow steps and into what is undeniably a throne room, however devastated by time.

The hall is full of shuffling _Reanimates_ , turning sightless eyes towards him as he crossed the threshold. At the end sits the necromancer enthroned. Chris is surprised when he gets close enough to see him properly; he looks more like a mercenary than a King of The Dead. His dark hair is hanging long over his shoulders and both his eyes are smudged black.

‘My, my,’ he murmurs, mouth curving when Chris stops before him. Chris’ eyes snap to the object in his hand — a jewelled skull gripped in his tattooed fingers. The reason for Chris’ journey and his quest. His only hope. 

He takes a knee.

‘Such gentility,’ The necromancer snorts. Chris looks up at him, eyes pleading. 

‘I come to ask, no to beg—’

‘I know why you’re here,’ he says, lifting the skull with his fingers and turning towards it as though he might kiss it. ‘What I don’t know is what you imagine someone like you, _Prince_ , have that I could possibly want.’ Chris opens his mouth but there’s nothing. Then a thought passes over the surface of his mind. 

‘Wh-what do you want?’ he asks at last and he sees that man’s face crack into a smile. 

‘Smart,’ he says, still leering at Chris, ‘—I like that. What I want from you is service.’

‘What?’ Chris says, shocked and forgetting his fear. 

‘A term of service to myself,’ he says slowly as though to give Chris time to catch up. 

‘For how long?’ Chris asks, calculating. The necromancer smiles at him again.

‘A year and a day.’ 

‘ _A year?_ But—’ Chris exclaims, suddenly on his feet, ‘my kingdom would be overwhelmed in half that time, I can’t possibly—’ 

‘And what better than an army of the undead to get it back,’ he says, tilting the skull. 

‘You can’t be serious,’ Chris says, sinking to his knees again. 

‘Oh, quite serious,’ the necromancer smirks, ‘so what do you say, _gallant warrior_?’ Chris stares at him, open-mouthed for a moment. But then what can he say? If he leaves without the relic there is nothing in his kingdom for him. Nothing but disgrace. He takes a breath. 

‘Yes,’ he says once, and the necromancer laughs. 

‘Good,’ he says, ‘very well, what’s your name, sweet?’ 

‘Chris,’ Chris answers in a monotone. 

‘And mine’s Ricky,’ he says, pouting at the skull, until his eyes drift back onto Chris’ face, ‘don’t look so disheartened, captivity doesn’t have to be suffering. Come here—’

At first Chris doesn’t move but then Ricky snaps his fingers at him and it feels as though invisible threads are dragging him up. He staggers towards the throne, still being pulled.

‘Stop it! _Please_ , I can walk,’ he grunts and Ricky lowers his hand, eyes still glinting with amusement. ‘Is that what you do to those _things_?’ he asks as he kneels again between Ricky’s boots this time. 

‘It’s a little more complicated than that,’ Ricky admits, ‘—I could show you sometime.’ Chris stares at him, not sure if he’s more shocked or more terrified by the idea, and Ricky stares back. He lifts a hand to trace the words inked along his jaw. 

‘Show me your hands,’ he orders and Chris, nonplussed, removes his gauntlets to do so. Setting the skull on the arm of his throne, Ricky takes one in both of his own, inspecting it closely. Chris watches him, his hands are lined and scarred from years of war. 

‘You play?’ he asks, surprising Chris again. 

‘Yes,’ Chris says as Ricky feels his calluses, ‘and, um, use my voice. I sing.’ He’d momentarily forgotten the word as tingles start to spread over his wrist and up his arm from Ricky’s light touches. 

‘Do you?’ he asks, shyly pressing his thumb to the calluses on Ricky’s fingertips. 

‘Music and magic are written in the same language,’ he says, as he pulls on his wrist a little more, drawing Chris’ hand to his mouth. His tongue flicks out to lick over the centre of his palm. And Chris has to swallow a noise when Ricky nips the thickest part of it. He shifts in his seat, allowing Chris’ fingers to slip from his mouth.

‘I want to use your hands,’ he says, nails lightly scratching at Chris’ palm making his shiver. Heat is creeping into his stomach and down his thighs. 

‘Wh-what for?’ he asks, surprised to find himself breathless. 

‘A service,’ he smirks and Chris flushes as he thinks he has an idea what that means. Chris glances behind him, eyes upon the many shuffling bodies. ‘No need to be self-conscious, I assure you we’re the only things that could be considered living here.’ 

‘Can’t you send them out?’ Chris mumbles, face hot and a tight knot in his stomach. Ricky looks him over for a moment longer but then snorts softly. He sits up a little more and Chris sees his eyes turn completely black. And then the hoard is turning, rattling and scraping as they exit the chamber. 

‘Satisfied?’ he says and when Chris looks back at him he sees his eyes have returned to normal. Chris nods and Ricky takes back his hand, loosening his clothes as he moves forward. His hand tightens on Chris’ wrist and he pulls. Chris allows him to guide his hand between his thighs. He’s hard, Chris realises nervously, and shifts against his hand as Chris slips it inside his clothes to touch his bare skin.

He sees Ricky’s eyelashes flicker as he feels his cock against his palm. Chris begins to stroke him carefully, pulse flickering with Ricky’s eyes on him. He makes a soft sound, body curving around the hand Chris has on him. 

Chris feels his long hair brush the top of his head and glances up at him to see his face is mottled with a flush already. Chris lifts a hand and tentatively brushes them over Ricky’s lips. Ricky’s eyes flick open and he allows Chris to push two fingers into his mouth. He sucks as Chris watches him, hand working his cock. Chris' whole body is burning, cock thick and heavy between his thighs, and he’s just starting to wonder if Ricky’s casting a spell on him right now. But his eyes are clear as he tongues between Chris’ fingers like he wants to taste every part of them. 

Ricky lets Chris’ hand out of his mouth to gasp in air, dropping down even more until his head is pressed against the back of Chris’. His other hand is clamped tight on Chris’ shoulder as he squirms then goes rigid. He can feel Ricky come in his hand with a groan. 

He let’s Ricky go, dropping his hands to his lap; relieved his thick leather and armour conceals so much of his body. Ricky exhales letting himself drop back on his throne. 

‘Hand,’ he grunts. Chris gives him his clean hand obediently. ‘—other hand.’ Chris gives him his other hand and he licks it as Chris watches round eyed. ‘ _Mm_ , good,’ he says, letting Chris go and pushing his hair off his face and fixing his clothes. ‘The habitable rooms are in the Eastern part of the castle claim whichever you like, I hope you can cook.’ Chris nods and Ricky nods too. Ricky lifts a fine chain from his neck with a single key hanging from it. He loops it around Chris’ neck. ‘Keep that on at all times,’ he instructs, gesturing Chris back so he can stand.

‘Why?’ Chris asks, running the chain between his fingers. It’s warm from Ricky’s skin but the key is unnaturally burning to the touch. 

‘Protection,’ Ricky says with a shrug. He picks up the skull, tossing in the air once. As he trots out the army of the undead pour back in to take up whatever mindless tasks they had been about before. Chris stands, alone on the dais, in the centre of the hall.

**Author's Note:**

> No.. I don't know why I made Ricky a necromancer with a hand fetish.. 😅
> 
> [xyours-eternallyx](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/xyours-eternallyx) on tumblr 🙌


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